


wendy house rot

by serenelapins



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Light Introspection, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26565850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenelapins/pseuds/serenelapins
Summary: Their journey beckoned them forward.It was time to leave him in the past.
Relationships: Riku Replica/Sora (Kingdom Hearts), Riku/Sora (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	wendy house rot

**Author's Note:**

> requested by anonymous

_Do puppets ever mourn?_

_Perhaps, when they dance to the strings held by the children of the future, they do._

* * *

There was an unfamiliar twang that strummed beneath the beating of Riku’s heart. Though it was subtle and quiet, to Sora, who had listened to the soothing drum of Riku’s heart for as long as he could remember, it stood out sorely, the melody calling to him softly.

Between beats, it thrummed on quietly, Riku’s shadow appearing to sigh with each hidden note. Sora pressed his ear closer to Riku’s chest, fighting sleep as Riku continued to comb his hand through his hair. The arm around his waist squeezed him lightly as if Riku were checking that he was still there.

With heavy, drooping eyes, Sora watched the shadows sway, Riku humming an old lullaby. His breathing slowed, and his eyes fluttered closed, relaxed in the warm embrace.

If Sora had stayed awake, perhaps he would have caught a glimpse of what had altered in the small breath the world took. Perhaps he would have caught a glimpse of green eyes simmering to a quiet teal or chanced a glance at how the sharp edges of adulthood softened for a second, remnants of boyish innocence surfacing.

Perhaps, if Sora had stayed awake, he would have remembered who held him that at moment and called out to him.

But the boy fell into a deep sleep, chasing the strangers who bid him familiar farewells in his heart.

* * *

Acceptance came in the form of bile that sat heavily in the back of his throat, in the form of a god standing before him, colorful wings canvased against the existence of nothingness. In the in-between where only dregs of his ego remained, he observed as the other— _the original_ —approached him, nails sharper and eyes kinder than the last time they crossed.

“You were here,” the original said, sounding relieved. And oh, how he wished that he could have grown angry at him for that—wished that he could have lashed out and shouted at God for not condemning him. After all, what more was he at that moment than a leech, idly drowning in a place that he could no longer mend himself into?

Instead, he tilted his head and nodded, coils of light corded around his throat tightly. If an ounce of his old ego had remained, perhaps he would have laughed at the other and attempted a taunt, goading him about power and trying to erase a shameful past.

The wings flickered quietly, and he moved his head back into place, humbled by the reminder of the eternal promise before him. 

“I feel you,” the original, the creator, the _God_ said. Sharp nails raised to press against God’s heart, sorrow painted on his features. 

He turned away, awash with odd desperation at the revelation that soon, those features would no longer mirror his own. They would shed themselves of him and continue onward, whilst he would forevermore be _the past._

God continued, nails biting the fabric of his white vest lightly, “Whenever I’m with him, I feel you.” He kneeled before him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “He does, too.”

“Does that bother you?” he asked, finding no purpose in putting up fronts any longer. His body fell slack, and he wondered if it was possible to fall further into nothingness. “Does it bother you that he still sees the phantom of a past self?”

For a moment, it was silent. And then, “No,” an honest smile, “It doesn’t.”

He raised his head to meet God’s kind gaze.

“Besides,” God continued, pressing his forehead against his, “I’m not the one he sees.”

God vanished, and as he sat in the absence of nothing, a warmth burned inside him.

Acceptance came in the tears that rolled down his face, in the faux memories of children running together beneath the stars.

Acceptance came in the sky that kissed his skin, and cherished this form.

* * *

“Riku,” Sora began, leaning against his shoulder and watching the sea lap at their ankles, the boat swaying quietly against its post. “Riku, you think… You think shadows ever dream of anything?”

He wondered if it was a silly question. Sora was sure that if he had asked anyone else, he would have been met with light laughter as they wondered what exactly went on in his head. 

But with all things concerning him, Riku hummed quietly, mulling the question over seriously as he moved his feet in the water, the reef below rippling in the reflection. “Maybe. Probably do.” He turned to Sora, whose attention was fixed onto his shadow. “How come?”

The shadow pressed at the edges of its existence, seeming as if it were calling out to him. Sora laid his hand on top of it gently, swearing that he felt the presence of a heart within it.

“Just wondering,” he pressed his palm flat against the wood, curious of the sadness that surged within him and seized his heart, eyes burning as the shadow danced with the evening sun, “That’s all.”

* * *

The boy slept peacefully on the colorful glass floor; a yellow star cradled close to his chest. Despite the physical changes, it appeared that his heart reflected the same enchantment and endearment as before, something that he couldn’t help but smile at as he stepped closer. He kneeled, brushing Sora’s bangs to the side.

They had outgrown him, but God allowed him one last farewell.

Sora’s chest rose softly, unaware of all else in his sleep. He scoffed fondly at that, seating himself and propping his head onto his knee, mapping the other’s face to memory. The star shined brightly, reflecting the light of the floor. He had to bite his lip to stop the surge of sensations that washed over him.

He could have replayed a million records at that moment. Could have tried to sway Sora and tie them back to one another— _Look at me! Don’t you remember the good ol’ days? The good ol’ me?_ —could have tarnished the faith the original had given him and cast the sky out of the heavens and back into the ground.

But he didn’t. 

He had come to accept his place among the dust.

Gently, he placed a hand over Sora’s and closed their fingers over the star.

“You’re on your way to new things,” he said, smiling at the love he had experienced. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Sora’s forehead, finding himself ill at ease. “Just don’t forget to remember the stardust, alright?”

The floor shimmered as Sora dreamt on, unaware of adolescent memories clasped tightly in his hand.

* * *

_Do puppets ever wish?_

_Perhaps, when they wave farewell to the children of the past, they do._

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


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